Bet all of you have noticed the small blue blossoms along the interstate this summer and probably during summers before. This blue flower is called chicory. Hazel said the Indians once used it for tea, and maybe they still do…like the folks in New Orleans. But Mom would fuss when she tasted chicory in her coffee. Mom was serious about her coffee.
Still there is something about chicory that I like. Don’t ask me why a dainty flower would put its toes down right up to the very edge of asphalt! I don’t know. But chicory seems to like to be close to the places where people travel, even little footpaths and graveled roads. Alline said it used to grow on the path between the farm house where we all grew up and Grandma Williams’ house across the field. Can you imagine how many little bare feet traveled that slick path every day with the chicory brushing up against their ankles?
This past week I visited Alline, and with the help of her son Garnett, we went to see our other sister Clarice in the nursing home. Clarice is not able to get out of bed by herself, but her face is still beautiful and full of life and strong. When I
showed her some new found pictures that Hazel had left us, she at first cried and said, “That’s my family.” Then after a short while, Carroll and Betty came in, and she was overjoyed with the presence of several family members. I noticed
there were still tears on her face even with her wide smile. Just like she has always done, she wanted to comfort and feed us. She said, “Why don’t somebody go out and get sandwiches and I’ll pay for it.” It was very touching. And I thought, “the next time Alline and I come to visit, we will bring a picnic lunch to you and eat together right in your room.” But as we prepared to leave, the only words I could think to say were that I’d be back to see her soon.
Later when Alline and I drove home, we came by way of Doe Creek Road. It’s quiet there. We found a spot where we could pull over and just look around. Sometimes when we travel on Doe Creek, we see deer or wild turkeys or an owl or a hawk. We love that. But it’s okay when there is just the stillness. We notied the walnut trees, the oaks, and the varied plants that grow along the road edges. And yes, guess what blue face we saw popping up among the golden rod and milk weed. I didn’t even know chicory could grow that tall!
As I bet anyone from the country already knows, it turns out chicory isn’t as delicate as it looks. When I tried to pick a few blossoms for Alline and me, I found the stems were tough as ropes. You would need scissors to gather a bouquet. And next summer, I bet, if we all stay well, we’ll be seeing those same blue blossoms along the interstate again… and again the next summer… and the next summer… and the next summer… and the next summer…